The Erotica Arc: Trowa x Quatre
by flecksofpoppy
Summary: Several unrelated scenarios set in separate small universes exploring Trowa's possible sexual relationships. NC-17. Quatre/Trowa.


**The Erotica Arc: Trowa/Quatre**  
Completed fall 2003. In no specific order, several scenarios set in separate small universes exploring Trowa's possible sexual relationships.

He asked me if he could watch me jerk off. I didn't know what to think. At first I was afraid, then outraged, then curious. I suppose I was never really outraged; maybe just outraged that he had realized, and found me out. I don't think it's like I have a huge sign over my head that in blinking neon lights advertises: REPRESSED GAY MAN HERE. The difference being that I'm not repressed. Drop the repressed and you'll realize why my father finally gave up on the idea of marriage. He knew what I was, and that was one of two parts to me that he hated. My attraction to men, and my one-time rebellion to join the offensive in the war.

How do you know you're attracted to men? My sister had asked me after the war, when I was still only 16. You're only a teenager, she had insisted until she had hesitated, admitted that I was a little different in some respects than other teenagers, but still, if I was busy fighting what would I have known about love?

I don't know much about love, at least not the kind of love that my father wanted me to have with a woman, but I do know about sex. Sex with my violin teacher when I was 14. Yes, go ahead and tell somebody. That would make the gossip column by the weekend... I can see it now- "Winner Heir Takes it Up the Ass. Stay tuned for more at 6." It's a pity that Winner Enterprises didn't invest in media networks, and that I don't condone censorship. If only my family made their money for another reason and I was less morally inclined; I'd be all set for a cover-up.

But no, it's the truth. Fourteen-there's me, my violin and my teacher. Then there's me bent over the piano bench, the violin somewhere on the floor, and Maestro Romero bent over me. My father always wondered how I became so talented at violin; when I was growing up I despised taking music lessons, all apart from piano that was. I'm self-taught in that respect, and I'm really not all that good. But I became quite good at the violin over the last year before I decided to play rebel and hijack Sandrock for the wildest, most disturbing ride of my life.

You wouldn't think I'm gay. You wouldn't think I'm capable of blowing up an entire satellite colony, either. But that's reality as I know it; I stopped trying to gauge what I am and am not capable of a long time ago.

So when Trowa asked to see me jack myself off, I wasn't quite prepared. I didn't think much about sex during the war; my brain was too filled up with other things, and I'm positive that the Zero System decreases sex drive quite considerably. Somehow I don't think that's something there will ever be a study on, but it'd be interesting if there was. Look at Heero; I don't think he's had a day in his life where he thought about jerking off in a less than instinctual way.

You can never tell with Trowa if he's surprised or not, but I think I surprised him when I replied a few days later, "Okay. But only if I can watch you." He just shrugged and nodded, as if he had asked to borrow a shirt and I had come back and said only if he washed it when he was done. Talk about blasé; but there was something I saw in Trowa from the beginning that I loved, that had nothing to do with sex or the body, or even my thought process. It was just love; a love for humanity, a love for what tenderness remained in him, a love wrought from a terrible inkling that this being had been through things that needed to end. So I stopped fighting him that day when our Gundams first faced each other because I knew that he was on my side, and I knew that later down the road I would regret it if I killed him. Or if he killed me.

The mutual masturbation came later, when we knew each other, when the war had ended or was in the process of ending. I don't recall the exact time, but it must have been just before we defeated the White Fang because Heero practically forced me to use the Zero System in the final battles, and if my sex drive were like an open fire the Zero System was a rush of cold water. There we were on Peacemillion, intermittently fighting and waiting for the battle that would end all battles and quite possibly our lives.

I remember knocking on his door, my knuckles still sore from where I had scraped them tweaking with Sandrock, the wounds feeling like they were about to start bleeding again against the metal door. It was so hard, so real.

He opened it and stood there, looking at me, and I stepped inside and pushed my hands against his chest. It was after San Francisco that I started to want to touch him, to see him in a different way that just a comrade. But the desire hadn't come from love; I had the same love for the good that I saw in humanity. No, it was something dark, something that came from the same place within me that madness had.

His body hit the wall with a soft thud and I just stood there against him, looking at him, and he must have seen something tender in that look no matter how tightly my hands were against his shoulders because he looked away uncomfortably. I undid his belt and his pants and they dropped, and then I did the same to myself until we were both standing there in boxers and shirts.

He pulled down mine, and for a moment I felt something in his touch that was frightening, something that I was afraid of losing. I ignored it for the moment and turned myself off as he ran his hands over my legs, slowly, languishing the skin, the backs of my knees until he touched my hips and gripped my ass tightly. He squeezed in a way that was accidental, not from planned passion but from want, from something inside of him that wanted something inside of me that had nothing to do with my hardening cock.

I slid his underwear down his legs until they hit the floor, then stepped back and let his hands fall away from me. I couldn't look at his face, not right then. I didn't know why.

"How do you want this?" I asked, looking at his shoulder carefully and then meeting his eyes when that dreadful moment was over. Something I can't put my finger on fluttered between us.

"Sitting, standing?" my voice trailed off, and when he didn't answer I decided to stand. I saw the lube sitting on the table he had gotten out, probably as an afterthought.

"Can I use this?" I asked, and he nodded. I opened it, squeezing some onto my hand and slicked it onto myself, and I could feel myself getting hard as he watched me intently. I threw it to him. "Catch."

He caught it easily, squeezing the tube and let the slick substance gather in his palm and on his fingers. I watched his hand and saw his cock hardening, and then my gaze went lower and I saw scars on his legs, old wounds that had healed. But there was something in him that hadn't healed, that I wasn't sure would ever heal. Maybe all humans have such a wound, but I could feel Trowa's as surely as I could feel my own heartbeat. With my sort of condition, I knew more about people than they thought I did. I couldn't tap into that awful energy for too long though; it was exhausting.

He began to stroke himself and doubled over, one hand on his cock and one hand squeezing the bed post next to him. The mop of hair obscured his face and the hem of his shirt grazed the tops of his hips, and he let out a small sound. I was fascinated at first, hearing Trowa so unreserved and liberal with his voice. Then I remembered that this was a two-way street, and I began to stroke myself. I closed my eyes, but I could feel him looking at me, staring at me, his eyes watching my hand going up and down and the wet head of my cock. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. Something in my head kept telling me, this is Trowa, this is Trowa. And then there was something too personal, too claustrophobic about this that being with other people hadn't possessed. It was because the voice was right: this was Trowa.

But I blocked it out and continued to jack off, and then I opened my eyes and we just stared at each other. Sweaty, aroused, trying to read the other's glassy eyed expression as we both touched ourselves and then I orgasmed before he did. I bit my lip and could feel my face contorting, then doubled over and came all over the floor and whatever was on it. I could hear him behind me, following rather quickly and then there was silence, a quiet that was not quite comfortable but not quiet unpleasant either.

So I pulled on my boxers and zipped up my pants, not bothering to clean myself up. I turned to face him and he was still just leaning there against the wall, come all over his jeans and his face flushed, looking as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. He never was the natural leader unless he had to be.

"Was that what you wanted?" I asked, taking a step toward him and feeling a distinctly uncomfortable dampness in my boxers. He didn't reply, but finally moved to make some effort to dislodge himself from the wall. His body was wiry and strong, and he righted himself easily, but my arms were already around his waist and guiding him towards the bed.

He didn't argue with me and laid down, and I could feel his eyes fixed on me intensely. I pulled his jeans and boxers off his ankles and he laid down, and I laid down next to him, drawing a leg over his legs and an arm over his chest. He let me do it without comment.

"You wear shoes that are too small," I said. He started against me like I had just told him that I knew the secrets of his soul. I sat up and looked at his feet; they were red and a little blistered. I took one of them in my hands and ran a few fingers over it.

"I've been meaning to get new ones," he replied, shrugging. "I haven't had time to dig some up yet."

I didn't reply, just released his foot from where I had seized it and laid back down next to him. He didn't resist; his body felt limp next to mine and I had the urge to kiss him so badly right then that I didn't dare.

Maybe this was what love felt like.


End file.
